


Cookies

by Lakritzwolf



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 19:25:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4637388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-BotfA Shire Bliss and Thorin’s utter inaptitude in all things culinary</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cookies

The harsh crack elicited a high-pitched sound of dismay from Bilbo. He spun around and pushed a stray lock of hair from his face, leaving a speck of flour on his forehead.  
Thorin took a slow step aside and managed to look sheepish and stubborn at the same time.

“Sorry,” he said.  
Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Thorin, how often? That is... no way to crack an egg! It’s not a... an orc’s skull or whatever. It’s an egg! And it hasn’t done you any harm!”  
Thorin crossed his arms. “I said sorry.”  
“Yes, a hundred eggs and a hundred times sorry...”  
“You are exaggerating.”  
“Am I?” Bilbo drew his eyebrows together and, arms akimbo, gave the dwarf in his kitchen a deadly glare. “If it’s not a hundred it’s at least a dozen if not two. How can this not fit into that dwarfish skull of yours? Eggs are to be cracked with feeling.” He lifted his hands in an imploring gesture. “They’re not made of rocks!”

Thorin took another step back, defiance in his stance. “Eggshells are made of chalk. Chalk is a type of rock.” But there was a glint in his eye and a twitch around his mouth.  
“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!” Bilbo threw his hands up in a gesture of helpless surrender. “I swear, all you lot can do is eat it, or if you can’t eat it, destroy it.”  
“That would be trolls, not dwarves.” Thorin leaned against the kitchen counter and watched Bilbo dispose of the unrecognisable slimy mass with crumbly bits he had created in his attempt to help.

Bilbo shot him a look that would have felled a lesser dwarf. “And if I asked you to beat the butter you punch it into next week, only leaving a faint stain of grease on my table.”  
“I thought beating butter involved a bowl and a wire whisk...”  
“Hah. Nice try, Mr Knows-It-All,” Bilbo huffed as he took another egg. He expertly tapped it against the rim of the bowl and let the contents of the egg slide inside. “You see? Gentle. It’s not as if it is witchcraft.” And as an afterthought, he added: “You brute of a dwarf.”

“It’s amazing, really,” Thorin said slowly. “That you still dare come close to me and sleep at my side every night. Seems a miracle I haven’t crushed you to death yet.”  
Bilbo rolled his eyes again, more dramatically this time, and accompanied by a nose twitch. 

Having relinquished his position as kitchen helper Thorin watched as Bilbo expertly cut the butter into small cubes to add it and the sugar into the bowl as well. The hobbit was humming under his breath and momentarily so lost in his task, that he didn’t realise Thorin had closed the distance between them. When the dwarf’s strong hands closed around his midriff he was caught by surprise and, as he also was terribly ticklish, he yelped and dropped the two eggs he was just about to set aside.

“Now look what you have done!” Bilbo tried to wriggle free but Thorin was rubbing his beard against the soft roundness of Bilbo’s left cheek. It seriously took the edge off Bilbo’s anger.  
“I’m just glad I’m not the only one clumsy around eggs,” he muttered into Bilbo’s reddening ear, his lips tracing the sensitive skin. Bilbo dropped his arms with a sigh.

Thorin chuckled against the skin of his neck and leaned back, only to be hit by a handful of flour right into the face.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Kitchen.”  
Thorin blinked at him and tried to brush of the worst of the flour as he left. When Bilbo Baggins started to throw food, it was time to make a retreat.

Thorin’s appearance in the living room was greeted by raucous laughter and a small, childish voice piping up: “Uncle Thorin, why is your beard white?”

Bilbo shook his head with another heartfelt sigh and proceeded to clean egg and flour off the kitchen floor. Despite all obstacles he managed to get the tray of cookies into the oven and was finally ready to join their visitors in the living room that already smelled of dwarven pipe weed.

“Why did you give Uncle Thorin a white beard, Uncle Bilbo?”  
Bilbo faltered and blinked, opened his mouth, shut it again and twitched his nose. Then he shot Thorin, who was sitting comfortably in his own favourite armchair, a knowing look. Thorin returned said look with an expression of unmasked amusement.

“Your great-uncle is somewhat of a klutz in the kitchen,” he explained to the boy, ignoring the chuckle of the other two dwarves present. “Armies, mountains, dragons, he can handle anything. But give him an egg, and he’s bound to make a mess of it.”  
“Too bad then that we had to deal with a fully fledged dragon and not an egg,” Fili said around his pipe. Beside him, Kili was hard pressed not to fall out of his chair.  
Bilbo hooked his thumbs behind his suspenders. “Trust me, if Smaug had been an egg Thorin would’ve made short work of him.”

Felin, son of Fili, crown prince of Erebor and future King under the Mountain, looked back and forth between his father, his uncle and his great uncle with his face scrunched up in utter incomprehension.

“I think the cookies are done,” Bilbo said to him with a smile. “Want to help me get them out?”  
Felin frowned up at him. “Will you give me a white beard, too?”  
“We see how it goes,” Bilbo replied and took the boy’s hand.


End file.
